The Attache; Or, Sam Slick In England(Fiscle Part-3), Thomas Chandler Haliburton [best ereader for pdf TXT] 📗

Out The Whole Bill O' Parcels.

Indeed,  She Hante Done Tellin' It Yet,  And Wherever She

Is,  She Works Round,  And Works Round,  Till She Gets Europe

Spoke Of,  And Then She Begins,  'That Reminds Me Of A Most

Remarkable Fact. Jist After I Was Married To Mr. Lot,  We

Was To The Alps.'

 

"If Ever You See Her,  And She Begins That Way,  Up Hat

And Cut Stick,  Double Quick,  Or You'll Find The Road Over

The Alps To Umbagog,  A Little The Longest You've Ever

Travelled,  I Know.

 

"Well,  She Had No Sooner Done Than Cranbery Jumps Up On

Eend,  And Sais He To The Guide,  'Uncle,' Sais He,  'Jist

Come Along With Me,  That's A Good Feller,  Will You? We

Must Return That Good Samaritan's' Cane To Him; And As

He Must Be Considerable Cold There,  I'll Jist Warm His

Hide A Bit For Him,  To Make His Blood Sarculate. If He

Thinks I'll Put That Treatment To My Wife,  Miss Lot,  Into

My Pocket,  And Walk Off With It,  He's Mistaken In The

Child,  That's All,  Sir. He May Be Stubbeder Than I Be,

Uncle,  That's A Fact; But If He Was Twice As Stubbed,

I'd Walk Into Him Like A Thousand Of Bricks. I'll Give

Him A Taste Of My Breed. Insultin' A Lady Is A Weed We

Don't Suffer To Grow In Our Fields To Umbagog. Let Him

Be Who The Devil He Will,  Log-Leg Or Leather-Breeches

--Green-Shirt Or Blanket-Coat--Land-Trotter Or River-Roller,

I'll Let Him Know There Is A Warrant Out Arter Him,  I Know."

 

"'Why,' Sais The Guide,  'He Couldn't Help Himself,  No

How He Could Work It. He Is A Friar,  Or A Monk,  Or A

Volume 2 Chapter 13 (Looking Back) Pg 179

Hermit,  Or A Pilgrim,  Or Somethin' Or Another Of That

Kind,  For There Is No Eend To Them,  They Are So Many

Different Sorts; But The Breed He Is Of,  Have A Vow Never

To Look At A Woman,  Or Talk To A Woman,  Or Touch A Woman,

And If They Do,  There Is A Penance,  As Long As Into The

Middle Of Next Week.'

 

"'Not Look At A Woman?' Sais Cran,  'Why,  What Sort Of A

Guess World Would This Be Without Petticoats?--What A

Superfine Superior Tarnation Fool He Must Be,  To Jine

Such A Tee-Total Society As That. Mint Julip I Could Give

Up,  I _Do_ Suppose,  Though I Had A Plaguy Sight Sooner

Not Do It,  That's A Fact: But As For Womankind,  Why The

Angeliferous Little Torments,  There Is No Livin' Without

_Them_. What Do You Think,  Stranger?'

 

"'Sartainly,' Said Squatter; 'But Seein' That The Man

Had A Vow,  Why It Warn't His Fault,  For He Couldn't Do

Nothin' Else. Where _He_ Did Wrong,  Was _To Look Back_;

If He Hadn't A _Looked Back_,  He Wouldn't Have Sinned.'

 

"'Well,  Well,' Sais Cran,  'If That's The Case,  It Is A

Hoss Of Another Colour,  That. I Won't Look Back Nother,

Then. Let Him He. But He Is Erroneous Considerable.'

 

"So You See,  Minister," Said Mr. Slick,  "Where There Is

Nothin' To Be Gained,  And Harm Done,  By This Retrospection,

As You Call It,  Why I Think Lookin' A-Head Is Far Better

Than--_Lookin' Back_."

 

 

 

 

 

 

Volume 2 Chapter 14 (Crossing The Border) Pg 180

The Time Had Now Arrived When It Was Necessary For Me To

Go To Scotland,  For A Few Days. I Had Two Very Powerful

Reasons For This Excursion:--First,  Because An Old And

Valued Friend Of Mine Was There,  Whom I Had Not Met For

Many Years,  And Whom I Could Not Think Of Leaving This

Country Without Seeing Again; And Secondly,  Because I

Was Desirous Of Visiting The Residence Of My Forefathers

On The Tweed,  Which,  Although It Had Passed Out Of Their

Possession Many Years Ago,  Was Still Endeared To Me As

Their Home,  As The Scene Of The Family Traditions; And

Above All,  As Their Burial Place.

 

The Grave Is The First Stage On The Journey,  From This

To The Other World. We Are Permitted To Escort Our

Volume 2 Chapter 14 (Crossing The Border) Pg 181

Friends So Far,  And No Further; It Is There We Part For

Ever. It Is There The Human Form Is Deposited,  When

Mortality Is Changed For Immortality. This Burial Place

Contains No One That I Have Ever Seen Or Known; But It

Contains The Remains Of Those From Whom I Derived My

Lineage And My Name. I Therefore Naturally Desired To

See It.

 

Having Communicated My Intention To My Two American

Companions,  I Was Very Much Struck With The Different

Manner In Which They Received The Announcement.

 

"Come Back Soon,  Squire," Said Mr. Slick; "Go And See

Your Old Friend,  If You Must,  And Go To The Old Campin'

Grounds Of Your Folks; Though The Wigwam I Expect Has

Gone Long Ago,  But Don't Look At Anythin' Else. I Want

We Should Visit The Country Together. I Have An Idea From

What Little I Have Seed Of It,  Scotland Is Over-Rated.

I Guess There Is A Good Deal Of Romance About Their Old

Times; And That,  If We Knowed All,  Their Old Lairds Warn't

Much Better,  Or Much Richer Than Our Ingian Chiefs; Much

Of A Muchness. Kinder Sorter So,  And Kinder Sorter Not

So,  No Great Odds. Both Hardy,  Both Fierce; Both As Poor

As Job's Turkey,  And Both Tarnation Proud,  At Least,

That's My Idea To A Notch.

 

"I Have Often Axed Myself What Sort Of A Gall That

Splenderiferous,  'Lady Of The Lake' Of Scott's Was,  And

I Kinder Guess She Was A Red-Headed Scotch Heifer,  With

Her Hair Filled With Heather,  And Feather,  And Lint,  With

No Shoes And Stockings To Her Feet,  And That

 

   "Her Lips Apart

    Like Monument Of Grecian Art"

 

Meant That She Stared With Her Eyes And Mouth Wide Open,

Like Other County Galls That Never See'd Nothing Before--A

Regilar Screetch Owl In Petticoats. And I Suspicion,  That

Mr. Rob Roy Was A Sort Of Thievin' Devil Of A White

Mohawk,  That Found It Easier To Steal Cattle,  Than Raise

Them Himself; And That Loch Katrin,  That They Make Such

A Touss About,  Is Jist About Equal To A Good Sizeable

Duck-Pond In Our Country; At Least,  That's My Idea. For

I Tell You It Does Not Do To Follow Arter A Poet,  And

Take All He Says For Gospel.

 

"Yes,  Let's Go And See Sawney In His "Ould _Reeky_."

Airth And Seas! If I Have Any Nose At All,  There Never

Was A Place So Well Named As That. Phew! Let Me Light A

Cigar To Get Rid Of The Fogo Of It.

 

"Then Let's Cross Over And See "Pat At Home;" Let's Look

Into Matters And Things There,  And See What "Big Dan" Is

About,  With His "Association" And "Agitation" And "Repail"

Volume 2 Chapter 14 (Crossing The Border) Pg 182

And "Tee-Totals." Let's See Whether It's John Bull Or

Patlander That's To Blame,  Or Both On 'Em; Six Of One

And Half-A-Dozen Of Tother. By Gosh! Minister Would Talk,

More Sense In One Day To Ireland,  Than Has Been Talked

There Since The Rebellion; For Common Sense Is A Word

That Don't Grow Like Jacob's Ladder,  In Them Diggins,  I

Guess. It's About,  As Stunted As Gineral Nichodemus Ott's

Corn Was.

 

"The Gineral Was Takin' A Ride With A Southerner One Day

Over His Farm To Bangor In Maine,  To See His Crops,  Fixin

Mill Privileges And What Not,  And The Southerner Was A

Turning Up His Nose At Every Thing Amost,  Proper Scorney,

And Braggin' How Things Growed On His Estate Down South.

At Last The Gineral's Ebenezer Began To Rise,  And He Got

As Mad As A Hatter,  And Was Intarmed To Take A Rise Out

Of Him.

 

"'So,' Says He,  'Stranger,' Says He,  'You Talk About Your

Indgian Corn,  As If Nobody Else Raised Any But Yourself.

Now I'll Bet You A Thousand Dollars,  I Have Corn That's

Growd So Wonderful,  You Can't Reach The Top Of It A

Standin' On Your Horse.'

 

"'Done,' Sais Southener,  And 'Done,' Sais The General,

And Done It Was.

 

"'Now,' Sais The Giniral,  'Stand Up On Your Saddle Like

A Circus Rider,  For The Field Is Round That Corner Of

The Wood There.' And The Entire Stranger Stood Up As

Stiff As A Poker. 'Tall Corn,  I Guess,' Sais He,  'If I

Can't Reach It,  Any How,  For I Can E'en A'most Reach The

Top O' Them Trees. I Think I Feel Them Thousand Dollars

Of Yourn,  A Marchin' Quick Step Into My Pocket,  Four

Deep. Reach Your Corn,  To Be Sure I Will. Who The Plague,

Ever See'd Corn So Tall,  That A Man Couldn't Reach It A

Horseback.'

 

"'Try It,' Sais The Gineral,  As He Led Him Into The Field,

Where The Corn Was Only A Foot High,  The Land Was So

Monstrous,  Mean And So Beggarly Poor.

 

"'Reach It,' Sais The Gineral.

 

"'What A Damned Yankee Trick,' Sais The Southener. 'What

A Take In This Is,  Ain't It?' And He Leapt,  And Hopt,

And Jumped Like A Snappin' Turtle,  He Was So Mad. Yes,

Common Sense To Ireland,  Is Like Indgian Corn To Bangor,

It Ain't Overly Tall Growin',  That's A Fact. We Must See

Both These Countries Together. It Is Like The Nigger's

Pig To The West Indies "Little And Dam Old."

 

"Oh,  Come Back Soon,  Squire,  I Have A Thousand Things,

I Want To Tell You,  And I Shall Forget One Half O' Them,